Hope, Born of Darkness
by Soledad
Summary: The ride and fights of the Grey Company, told from Elladan's POV. WIP. Ch2: The twins ride to the Angle to summon Halbarad and his Men. Implied EB
1. Prelude: Mornie alantië Darkness Has Fal...

**HOPE, BORN OF DARKNESS**

Elladan's story

**told by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I'm only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us fanfic writers to have some fun. Only the Lady Aquiel belongs to me.

**Rating:** PG – 13, for angst, violence (in later chapters) and implied m/m relationship.

**Author's notes:**

This is a stand-alone story about Elladan's final choice, the reasons for which he made it and the consequences that follow it, told mostly from his own POV. For better understanding you might want to read parts of my Boromir-series, starting with Part 4, ''The Bitter Gift of Compassion''.

Timewise, this story begins after the death of Boromir in the yet-to-be-written last part of the Boromir-series and ties in with my Glorfindel story ''A Tale of Never-Ending Love'', between Chapters 7 and 8 (or so I hope, since I've only reached the middle of Chapter 1 so far).

Sorry for making things so complicated; unfortunately, I tend to interweave my stories into an intricate web of background facts - not because I want to, but because they often sprout from each other like grapevines beyond my own control. They _can_ be read and understood independently, though – they just belong together.

My sincerest thanks go to Jennifer for beta-reading and cleaning out my grammatical chaos. :) If there are any remaining mistakes, it is because I kept some things against her suggestions.

**Dedication:** To my dear friend, Snicklepop – Happy birthday!

**PRELUDE: Mornie Alantië (Darkness Has Fallen)**

My beloved is dead.

The bond that connected me to Boromir son of Denethor has been broken and the touch of his tormented soul upon mine is gone.

We have no tidings yet concerning the headway of the Company chosen to go with the One Ring to the Land of Shadows, yet I know that the Man I love more than any thing or any one, more than life itself, is no more. Two days ago, went where ever Men go when their bodies are broken – where I, too, shall go one day.

When I have fulfilled my oath and the legacy he left behind.

Two days ago, I stood high upon the shoulder of the hills, at the head of the grey, narrow stone stairway that leads out of the dale, and looked southwards and eastwards, for my heart was full of dark foreboding. Ever-growing had I felt in recent days the evil power of the Ring, luring Boromir's heart under its spell.

He had reached out to me through our bond, draining my strength, and I had given it willingly, eager to keep him from fall. My own heart had told me already that it would not go on like that much longer.

I always knew he was in great peril and marked for death, yet I hoped against hope that my love would be strong enough and pure enough to save him. Not for myself – our times together were over, and I knew and accepted that – but for all those of his land whom he vowed to protect from the Darkness with his strong arms and his great heart.

Then I heard the sound of the great war-horn of Gondor. Faint and far away it sounded, yet I knew its deep and hoarse sound, for I had heard it in this very valley, on the eve of his departure – and my heart fainted.

I still cannot understand how I could have heard it, for the Company had left Lórien already – this much we knew, for the Lady of the Wood had sent us tidings on the wings of the Eagles – and was too far away for any horn to be heard. Mayhap it was our bond that opened up my ears beyond even Elven abilities, for as far as I know, I was the only one to whose ears the sound came. It is said the sound of that horn could always be heard between the borders of old in Gondor… maybe I, too, belong now to Gondor, through what we shared.

A second time I heard the great horn cry, not much later, and my heart was filled with anguish. And then I felt his soul touch mine – a short and gentle touch I felt almost bodily – and then darkness. His presence was gone, our bond broken and my heart barren.

I am so numb, I cannot even weep.

Given enough time, I shall feel the whole weight of my loss, of that I am certain; and it will hurt beyond any pain I had felt in my long life. But right now, I am just empty. As empty as must be his broken shell that is now bereft of his noble and valiant and so very kind soul.

I shall grieve for him in silence and solitude, hiding my agony even from my father and my siblings – for they would not understand my anguish. They would say that I had already lost him when he left with the Company, for he never truly loved me. And I could not bear to have to defend the memory of what we shared from the well-meant but belittling words of my family. For they only wish to be helpful – and yet they are so very wrong.

'Tis not true that he had no love for me. He might have kept the face of another one in his heart, yet he loved me well, and – save that one hurtful fight we had and which he regretted deeply afterwards – he made me more content and in peace with myself than I had ever been. Not only did he give me his passion, he also shared with me the secrets of his soul: a soul that was haunted by darkness, tormented and driven, yet still so very beautiful.

And he needed me. I had lain with mortal Men before, had touched mortal passion, and I had had Elven lovers as well, and it had been wonderful at times. but never had I been _needed_ before. Mayhap that was the reason why I had never fallen in love.

Until I met him.

When I first caught sight of him, at that feast my father gave upon our return from the wilderness, so proud and noble and kingly he seemed in my eyes, clad in silver-embroidered velvet of deep burgundy red and royal blue, and in black leathers – and yet a warrior through and through, in spite of his rich garments.

He seemed better suited to the battlefield than to the fragile beauty of my father's house. For his clear, blue-grey eyes, which so unexpectedly changed to deep blue every time passion touched his heart, were haunted, speaking of more than just the horrors of war, and though not very young anymore, at least not with the measure of his own Kin, he was all hard muscle and grim determination.

Arwen had spoken to me of him before. My dear sister, always worried about the loneliness of my like, thought that I could use some pleasant distraction; so I knew already that his Man – this warrior – was the firstborn son and Heir of the Ruling Steward of Gondor, the very land Estel was due to become King of. Yet he had chosen to fight alongside the troops of Minas Tirith, rather than remain in the safety of the strong walls of his father's city whilst his people suffered and died.

If not for Estel, he would have made a great King of Gondor.

I believe Arwen saw him thus as well, and she was troubled, for she knew there would be bitter animosity between the two of them once Boromir learned of Estel's claim. Indeed, I know not whether when she pointed him out to me, knowing that I would find a liking to him, she had in mind, the very agenda Boromir later accused our father of having: to make the Man more perceptive to the return of the King through the pleasures of our shared passion. She loves Estel very much, and at times love can make a person blind, even unintentionally cruel.

When I made my offer to the Son of Gondor, I did not expect to fall for him at all. I had been alone for a long time – long enough even for an Elf to grow tired of aloneness. I only wanted to warm my bed with the fire of mortal passion again, for it had been cold and empty for much too long; and the love of mortal Men had always tasted to me like a strong, old wine that, after having devoured, left me even more thirsty for it. And though as-yet untried in the matters of man-love though, he proved to be everything I had hoped for. Everything I had wanted for that one night… or mayhap a few more.

But then, in an unguarded moment of passion, he let me have a glimpse of the depths of his heart, and what I saw there touched me deeply. I had never thought it possible for a mere Man to suffer that much in such short a life. And beyond the pains what life and war and a forbidden love had brought upon his heart, there was the Shadow that befell him during that last battle in Osgiliath.

And for the first time in my life, I understood what being born as a healer truly meant.

For though both Elrohir and I have chosen the way of the warrior – he mayhap less fiercely than I have, for the blood of our mortal ancestors is less thick in his veins than it is in mine – we are still the sons of Elrond, greatest lore-master of Middle-earth, and we both inherited from our father the skills and the urge to heal.

Being more in touch with his Elven half than I am with mine, my brother's skills are greater than mine, as they are in singing and in music and with words, too. But I still am a strong and skilled healer, stronger even than most Elves, and certainly far stronger than Estel, who is greatly admired for his limited skills among the Rangers of the North.

I am a healer, and this Man was in grave need of healing. _I was_ needed, for no-one else could give him what he truly needed. Not his brother, whom he secretly and desperately loved against the law of Gondor and in spite of the wrath of his father, the Lord Denethor, not caring that his love would be forever unrequited. Nor Éowyn of Rohan, whom he vowed to wed upon his return, not out of love but out of duty and love to his land and his House – and a respect born of their shared fate as children of rulers who often cannot follow their hearts when choosing their spouses. Only I could make him whole again.

And so I took up the task and spent much time with him and came to know him a little more with every passing day – and slowly I began to fall in love with him. For there were hidden depths in that tortured soul no-one had ever explored before. In more than one way, I was the first to truly know him.

I was the only one who had seen him haunted by the memories of darkness and fire, who had heard him scream in his nightmares, who had been allowed to soothe him and comfort him and make him feel better again. To me alone had he ever shown his wounded heart, his vulnerability.

Never was he ashamed of his own weakness while with me, proud and almost haughty though he might have seemed to others. I was the only one he had ever asked for help. And I loved him for this even more than I loved him for the fairness of his face and for his nobility and his strength.

He was all those and yet he was more than that. He was _mine_ in a way he would never have belonged to anyone, even if he had lived. Mine to love, mine to protect – mine to let go when the time of departure arrived, the time to return to the only one he belonged with even more than he belonged with me: his shining city, Minas Tirith, White Queen of the South, his only true love.

Mine to live for and mine to die for.

And die for him I shall, eventually, for as all of Elrond's children must, I have made may choice, and I have chosen to be counted among the Kin of Men. I have chosen to share the fate of my beloved, for good or ill, for I cannot be without him.

Early did I know that he was in peril, even before my father warned me; in great peril, not only from the Shadow that had fallen upon his heart, but from the evil power of the Ruling Ring, that he desired from the first moment on he saw it.

Oh, I could see the desire in his eyes! And for he was a good and noble Man, driven only to protect those who depended on his strength, that accursed Ring tempted him with the good that he could do had he such power. It fed his desires and filled his heart with visions of doom and with false hopes. He already saw his beautiful city in flames, its great gates broken, its people slain or enslaved and the Shadow Lord of Minas Morgul sitting upon Gondor's throne – unless he took the Ring to wield it against its Maker.

And I knew he would fall under its spell and into darkness if nothing was done to save him.

So I did the only thing I could. I performed the Rite of Protection and bound my own soul to his to shield it from the Shadow with the powers of the Light that once shone in the Blessed Realm, captured and returned to Middle-earth in the Shielding Stone, an heirloom that had been passed down into my keeping.

Now I am bound to him 'til the end of Arda, beyond lands and waters and time – beyond Death itself, for Death is what we shall share one day, and it shall not part us any more. My father despaired when I announced my choice, and my brother was furious, for he felt betrayed, and the Lady Aquiel wept, and I thought I caught a faint glimmer of jealousy in Arwen's eyes – yet at the end they all have accepted my choice, for they could do naught to change my heart.

So, with the support and in the presence of Glorfindel, who at times understood me better than my own father, I performed the bonding, leaving my beloved free to fulfil his duties to his country and his House, should the Valar grant him a safe return, and it gave me great joy and great relief.

For he understood fully what I had done and accepted my gift with gratitude and with the natural grace of his noble heart. And from then on, he never hesitated to reach out for my support through our bond, and I gave him as much protection against the Ring and the Darkness as well as it was within my powers to give.

I wonder whether it has been enough.(*)

There is one thing only I kept hidden from him: my choice to accept the Doom of Men. He was so guilt-ridden already, I could not bear to add to his burden. For he felt himself unworthy of my love, which he could not return in the same measure, and would never believe how full of joy and purpose he had made my life.

When I follow him beyond the Rim, where all secrets are laid open and all doubts are gone, he will know it – and that is enough for me.

But as for now, there is only darkness.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

**End note:**

I never intended to begin another story before the other ones are finished. But Elladan wanted his own story to be told, and I cannot argue very well with my own heroes. g

(*) One can argue that it has not, since Boromir fell under the spell of the Ring and died. However, I feel that it _has_ been enough, after all, for without Elladan's support, Boromir probably would have fallen completely, without redeeming himself through a heroic fight and his death. Of course, Elladan cannot be sure before he gets the chance to speak with the remaining members of the Fellowship.


	2. Chapter 1: Great Tidings

**HOPE, BORN OF DARKNESS**

Elladan's story

**told by Soledad**

**Disclaimer and rating: **as in the Prelude

**Author's notes:**

I believe I have confused some of my faithful readers with the Prelude.

So let's get things straight: This is a stand-alone story, in that it is not part of a series. But it will follow Elladan's adventures through Rohan, the ''Path of the Dead'', Pelargir and the Pelennor fields, and you even get the (questionable) pleasure of watching him laying down his life and die as a mortal Man at the end.

So, there will be no major surprises, since I usually follow the canon (book-verse); the difference is the POV, mostly, and the missing scenes I love to weave into the original story. You might find some slight overlap with the first chapters ''Of Snow and Stone and Wolves'', since I can't expect everyone to have read the other stories. It might be helpful, though.

I hope I did not scare away the gracious people who take their time to read my stories and even drop some morsels for my poor, starving muse. I still love you, guys! It's you who make me go on!

CHAPTER 1: GREAT TIDINGS 

After a long, solitary night of grieving, spent in the guest room where Boromir had stayed while in Imladris, Elladan gathered himself together again, ready to return to his father's house and face his family – neither of which promised much pleasure. For Elrohir still did not speak with him, Arwen was strangely absent-minded, wrapped up in her own grief and worries, and his father… .

It was painful for Elladan to watch his father's anguish. The Lord of Imladris had retreated more and more into his own inner world, and his eyes were looking westwards all the time… as if he had forgotten the perils of the East; where his foster son and his lover were facing the Enemy more closely than anyone since the Battle upon Dagorlad, save perhaps Mithrandir, who had dared to enter Dol Guldur while Sauron still dwelt there.

"'Tis not his fault," Glorfindel sighed, when one of them made a hushed comment about their father's strange behaviour, "'tis the Sea-longing. He had suppressed it for three ages, considering the fight against the Darkness his uppermost duty. Now, that this fight seems to approach its end, whether for good or for ill we cannot say yet, the Call of the Sea became very strong, almost unbearable."

"You believe he is planning to go to the Havens?" Elrohir asked, deeply troubled.

Glorfindel shook his head. "Nay, he would not leave Middle-earth till the fate of the Ring is fulfilled… in which way ever. He had sworn, standing by the broken body of Gil-galad, our last High King, that he would remain here as long as the Ring remains. But withstanding the Call is very painful; for him, Eärendil's Heir, even more so than for other Elves. 'Tis in the blood of us all – save mayhap the Silvan folk, who never left these shores."

"Do you feel it, too?" Elrohir asked. Glorfindel nodded thoughtfully.

"I do… but it is different for me. I have already lived in Aman, have seen the light of the Two Trees of Valinor – even after my return, part of my soul still dwells in the Blessed Realm. And having died and been reborn makes one see things very differently… makes _me_ greatly different from all other Elves, even from the Firstborn who awoke alongside me at the dark waters of Cuiviénien."

"What happens to Father if the Ring-bearer fails?" whispered Arwen. What might happen to other people, she did not even dare to ask, though her heart was full of anguish.

"If he is not killed, he shall fade and die from the Sea-longing," Glorfindel answered sadly. "For should Sauron get his Ring and its terrible power back, Elrond Eärendilion would not flee to the Havens. He would stay in Middle-earth and fight the Darkness, even with no hope left. He is the Keeper of Vilya. He cannot do otherwise."

"And what about you?" Elladan asked.

Glorfindel gave him a sad smile. "I shall stay at his side till the end comes. I have been dead once – I fear not to die again. There are worse fates than that."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Elladan sighed and shook his head. He felt restless, driven by the urge to do something – anything – rather than sit in the safety of Imladris, awaiting the outcome of the quest that had killed the Man he loved.

He had wanted badly to go with the Company of the Ring, if only to protect Boromir from the Ring's evil powers, yet the hobbits had a stronger claim, and his father was an impartial judge, even if it broke his heart. Now that Boromir was dead, there still remained a promise to fulfil – and Elladan intended to keep his word, even if it cost him his life.

He crossed the bridge of Bruinen and went to his own chambers, shedding impatiently the heavy, gold-embroidered brocade robes his rank demanded he wear while in his father's court. He could not bear them any more.

Being a Prince of Imladris – and that he was, even if Elrond was not called a King – meant being passive, detached: sitting calmly and waiting for the events unfold on their own. This was something he always had been hard-pressed to do, yet since he made his choice, it had become almost unbearable – just as much as the Sea-longing had become for his father.

He was not the Heir of Elrond any more – that was now Elrohir, if Imladris would remain at all after their father's departure, without the power of Vilya to protect the Valley. He did not _want_ to be treated as Elrond's Heir anymore. Nor was he ready to remain passively between the rock walls of their Valley when the White City Boromir loved so much was in great peril and needed protection.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Several members of Elrond's household stared at him in wide-eyed shock as he hurried along the delicately arched corridors of his father's house, clad in the fashion of the Dúnedain, though not in their colours: dark leggings and high boots and a silvery-shining mail shirt under a short sleeved, soft leather tunic, covered with a long, hooded grey cloak, made in Lórien. A long sword was girded on his waist and a quiver strapped across his back, and he held a great bow, beautifully crafted by the hands of the Galadhrim, made to fit his hand alone.

"Where is my father?" he asked a shocked Amaldor, the new chief counsellor and steward of the house since Erestor's departure, who had just begun his daily work.

"In his study," the older Elf replied, "but I think not you should bother him right now. He is occupied with some disturbing tidings that came in during the night."

Elladan paled. Could it be that someone had witnessed the death of Boromir? Could there be tidings about the progress of the Company? Nay! his father would already have sent for him then.

"What tidings?" he asked, almost tonelessly.

Amaldor sighed and shook his head in his usual helpless manner when dealing with the headstrong twin sons of his Lord.

"I know not. Only this I heard: that the Eagles had come shortly before sunrise, in great hurry. They flew straight to Lord Elrond's balcony and called him out to speak with him. Then they left again, even more swiftly than they came."

"Eagles, you say? More than one, I deem… ."

"There were two of them, or so I was told," said Amaldor; "and the second one must have come from far away, for he looked weary. And great hardness it had to be, to wear out even a Great Eagle."

Elladan nodded. For an Eagle to tire, he had to come far and very, very fast. Galadriel had the power to summon them from their dwellings in the Far North and send them forth again with messages if the need was great, for they were friends with the Lady of the Wood. As did Mithrandir. But Mithrandir had fallen into darkness…

"I regret to say that now I need even more urgently to speak with my father," he said. "I must know what those tiding are, ere I leave the valley."

Amaldor raised a questioning eyebrow. "I was not aware that the Lord of Imladris had sent his son on an errand," he remarked; and indeed, had Elrond intended to do such a thing, he would have spoken about it with his counsellor first. Or so it should be – but Amaldor knew that (unlike Erestor) he was no part of the Lord's family an therefore might have been left out of matters in which Erestor would have been included.

"_He_ did not," Elladan said in a clipped tone. "_I am_ leaving. On my own."

Amaldor became as pale as Celebrían's marble bust in the anteroom. Such a breach of custom was unheard of in Elven families of high birth, where proper ceremonies belonged to daily life and everything was done on its proper way. Of course, Elladan had always been strong-headed, even more so than his brother, but never had he gone this far before. Elrond was the Lord of the Valley, his royalty akin to that of a King. His word was law, and no-one had ever questioned his authority or his decisions, least of all his children.

"I beg you to reconsider," the counsellor murmured in defeat, knowing all too well that his plea was in vain. He had watched Elladan growing up and knew: once Elrond's eldest had made up his mind, there was no way to change it.

As he had expected, Elladan shook his head stubbornly. "There is naught to reconsider, my Lord Amaldor. 'Tis is something I have to do, and I am certain that Father will understand. Now, give me leave or I shall be forced to go without his knowing."

Seeing that Elladan would not be held back by anyone, Amaldor sighed and moved out of his way. Elladan nodded his thanks and – without announcing his presence – entered the quiet study of his father.

It was a magnificent room, and looking to the West as it did, its high ceiling and farther corners were still in shadow. Elrond stood at the window, watching the pale grey sky, as-yet uncoloured from the early sunrise. His face was calm, collected, but very pale in the dark frame of his long, unbraided hair. Against his usual routine, he was not fully clad yet, wearing only a heavy robe over his sleeping gown. The tidings must have been disturbing indeed.

"Come in, Elladan," he said, without turning away from the window. "I have been expecting you since the sunset two days ago."

"You have?" Elladan was more than a little surprised.

His father nodded slowly, then finally turned towards him, clear grey eyes darkened with sorrow, pale face drained from worry and lack of sleep. He had been sitting awake for two days, in case his eldest needed him.

"He is gone, is he?" he asked softly.

"How can you… Have the Eagles brought tidings about the Company?"

"Nay," Elrond sighed, "they brought other tidings, no less disturbing. But I have seen the light dying in your eyes. I, too, once lost someone to whom my soul was bound. I can understand your pain. I only wish you had come to me."

"I am no longer a child, Father," Elladan said, harsher than he had intended, and regretting it immediately when he saw the hurt feelings flickering across his father's face. "And your mind seems to be elsewhere in these days," he added with more than a little discomfort.

"Sadly, 'tis true," Elrond nodded ruefully. "I try to fight it, for I need to focus as long as the final battle against Sauron is not won, yet it becomes harder and harder with every passing day. The Sea is finally demanding what is his – too soon, far too soon."

"I cannot imagine what it is like," Elladan admitted. "I have never heard the Call."

"Oh but you did," Elrond said with a sad little smile, "even though your Call is a different one. You are called by Middle-earth and by your mortal blood, and your path shall be different from mine. I saw how my brother was called, nearly two ages ago… and I have seen it coming to your heart for a long, long time."

"And still you were shaken when I made my Choice," Elladan said.

"Of course I was," Elrond answered. "You are my firstborn, and you were my Heir. And though I feared your choice all your life, I secretly hoped it would be different. But, as I already said, the choice is yours to make, and I accept it, no matter how it pains me."

"In that case," said Elladan, "mayhap I can hope for your blessings ere I leave."

"Where would you go?" asked Elrond.

"To Minas Tirith," Elladan looked him straight in the eyes, seeking understanding, "to defend _his_ city, now that he cannot do it any more. I promised him I would protect all that is his, Father, and the White City was his one, true love. I have to go there and defend her, even if I die on her walls."

"_Her_ walls?" Elrond repeated with a faint smile. Elladan smiled back.

"Boromir always spoke of the city of Ecthelion as if it were a person… the shining Queen of the South he called her.  He would have given everything to save her."

"Even his soul?" Elrond asked gravely.

But Elladan shook his head, still smiling, albeit sadly. "Nay… he departed in peace. The last kiss of his soul upon mine was gentle and peaceful. Whatever may have happened, he fought the darkness well, and in the end, he won. Of this I am certain."

"And what about you?" Elrond searched the calm face of his firstborn for signs of that violent grief that ran so deep in their family, the grief that almost destroyed _him_ after Celebrían's departure.

Elladan still smiled. "I am at peace, Father. It hurts, for sure, but being mortal now has its advantages. I have no time to grieve for centuries, for I shall follow him and be reunited with him when my time has come. Till then, though, he had left a legacy behind, which I intend to fulfil."

He paused. His father said naught, only watched him with saddened eyes, as if he had known what was to come.

"I have to go, Father," Elladan said again. "Give me your leave, I beg you."

"I always let you choose your own paths did I not?" asked Elrond. "If your heart tells you to go, then go with my blessings, and my prayers shall be with you. Tell me just this: do you intend to come back ere I leave?"

For a moment, Elladan was silent, pondering over the question. "I know not," he finally answered. "If the Ring-bearer succeeds and we win, Estel might need me in Minas Tirith. And Arwen might need my support, too, for despite all her wisdom, she is not used to dealing with mortal Men. But I shall come to say farewell ere you leave, if I survive. And I shall escort you to the Havens and send my messages for Mother. This much I can promise."

"And what if the Ring-bearer fails?" asked Elrond solemnly. "What would become of you then, my son?"

"If he fails and Darkness will come, I shall stay in Minas Tirith and defend her walls and her people till my last breath," said Elladan. "Then we shall not see each other again, I fear, for you shall go to Mandos' Halls, but I am mortal now, and Mandos would not embrace me. I shall go over the Rim where your brother and my beloved are waiting, and we shall be apart till the end of Arda… for not even you can tell me what is beyond that."

"True," Elrond nodded. "Our fate is in the hand of Ilúvatar, and to none but Manwë himself are his thoughts revealed. Yet we all have to do what our hearts tell us; and if yours is certain that your place is in Minas Tirith, then go, my child, fulfil your promise and your destiny."

Elladan knelt before his father in gratitude and kissed his hand. "I thank you, sire."

Elrond smiled and bent down, kissing his brow. "Rise, my son. Sit and listen, for, in truth, I can even help you to reach your goal as swiftly and safely as it might be done in these unsettling times."

"The messages…?" Elladan guessed, taking the proffered seat. Elrond nodded.

"Great tidings have come on the wings of the Eagles, indeed. For it seems, that Mithrandir has returned from the darkness and is clad in white now, taking over for Curunír who has fallen from grace."

"Mithrandir?" Elladan repeated, stunned. "Mithrandir came back from death? Is then such a thing possible?"

"So it seems," said Elrond solemnly, though the joy at these tidings shone clearly in his eyes. "You should remember, though: although he wears the disguise of a mortal Man, he is much more than that. He is older and stronger and more powerful than any of us, even Glorfindel, the Twice-Born, who is now nearer to the Maiar than to his own Kin himself. Mithrandir's labours here are not done yet – not as long as the Ring is whole and Sauron is alive."

"These are great tidings, indeed," Elladan agreed, relieved. "We might win this struggle, after all."

"We might," sighed Elrond, "though our victory or defeat still is in the hands of a hobbit whose only strength is his own weakness. Mithrandir cannot fulfil his task for him; nor can any of us."

"Yet we can and must do our part in the struggle," said Elladan. "What other word has come?"

"Less joyous news," his father answered. "It seems that Curunír finally made his move against Rohan. There was a terrible battle at the Fords of Angren. The son of Théoden-King was slain. Still, the Fords have not fallen yet. The Rohirrim are valiant people, though I know not how long they can hold against Curunír."

This saddened Elladan deeply. "So Théodred son of Théoden is dead?" he repeated. "How strange a fate that they had to die almost at the same time! He was Boromir's closest friend for nearly twenty years. I heard he was a very brave Man."

"Mortality," Elrond remarked dryly, "has its disadvantages, too."

"I am aware of that, Father," Elladan replied. "Yet I still fail to understand how these tidings might help me to reach Minas Tirith swiftly and safely."

"These cannot," said Elrond, "yet there was a third message, too, and it said: 'Aragorn has need of his kindred. Let the Dúnedain ride to him in Rohan'."

"Estel is in Rohan?" Elladan wondered. "Then they must have run fast, indeed. Whence has this message come?"

"I know not," his father shrugged, "the Eagle would not say. But since he came from Lórien with the news of Mithrandir's return, I would think that the Lady of the Wood has seen something in her mirror again."

They laughed in quiet understanding. Then Elrond spoke: "Therefore, I am in need of a messenger who would ride swiftly to the hidden dwellings of the Dúnedain and seek out Halbarad, their captain. He should gather as many of their kindred as he can. And someone to lead them on the shortest way to Rohan."

"Then you have found your messenger, Father," said a third voice from behind, and Elrohir entered, clad alike his twin, ready to leave.

Elrond lifted a mock eyebrow. "I intended to send your brother. After all, he is better suited to deal with mortal Men and their affairs, since he is one of them now."

"He may have foolishly given up the grace of his life," Elrohir answered morosely, "but that means not that I must let him walk in the outside world alone… a mere mortal among all the perils of these times."

He paused, then he grew very serious and very sad at once, and added, with downcast eyes: "Forgive me, brother. I had no right to question your choice… or the reason of it. I was being selfish, I know. But the thought of losing you… ."

"You will never lose me, Elrohir," Elladan clasped his brother's forearm in a warrior's embrace. "Some bonds keep endure beyond the Sea, they say… even beyond Death itself."

"Does yours?" Elrohir asked seriously.

Elladan sighed. "I know not… not yet. I shall have to wait and see what happens."

"Nay, you shall have to get ready, both of you," said Elrond. "You leave within the next hour."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

**End notes:**

I let them call the wizards Mithrandir and Curunír, instead of Gandalf and Saruman, for those are their Elvish names, and I thought that among themselves the Elves would use these.

The Galadhrim are the Elves of Lórien, called so after their chief city, Caras Galadhon.

Angren is the Elvish name of the river Isen.

Amaldor is an insignificant OC whom I created to replace Erestor. Erestor has left for the Grey Havens some time earlier but has not yet crossed the Sea.


	3. Chapter 2: Wisdom of the Heart

**HOPE, BORN OF DARKNESS**

Elladan's story

**told by Soledad**

**Disclaimer and rating: **as in the Prelude

**Author's notes:**

It has been a very long time since this story was last updated. It was my intention to leave it on ice until I finish my Boromir-series, since chronologically it begins where the Boromir-story arc ends. But I owed my good friend Snicklepop a birthday fic, and since she is so fond of Elladan, I thought this would suffice.

There are several original characters in this chapter. Halbarad's wife and their whole family are purely my creation. So is their background. The names were borrowed from Tolkien's writings about First Age Edain.

**CHAPTER 2: WISDOM OF THE HEART**

The Angle. A broad, triangular piece of land, separated from the Trollshaws by the old East Road alone and flanked by the rivers Mitheithel and Bruinen, all the way to its southern point where they unite and become the River Gwathló.

This is the last refuge of the Dúnedain of the North – their dwelling place and hidden fortress where the last remnants of Westernesse still can be found. This is the place where we have returned to find hunting companions ever since Mother's sufferings in the Orc-dens.

At least this was why _Elrohir_ always returned here.

For me, it was a little different.

I have always felt strong kinship with my uncle's descendants. I helped to raise many of them, taught them to wield their weapons, hunted with them, fought alongside them – and buried them when they fell in one of the never-ending skirmishes with the servants of the Darkness. Most recently the father and grandfather of Estel. And every time one of them died, part of me died with them. Even if I was not, strictly considered, one of their people.

All will be different now. For I have made my Final Choice, and though my life might still be much longer than theirs, and thus I shall most likely outlive the current generation (or even the next one), in the end, I shall go beyond the Rim and may meet them again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

We left Imladris early in the morning and were now swiftly approaching Bar Haleth(1), the main settlement of the Angle and seat of the Chieftains where now, in Estel's absence, Halbarad was in charge. We had to ride fast and hard, for the fortress itself stood in the northwestern corner of the Angle, right across the Ford of Bruinen. It had been raised there for the very purpose of watching both the Trollshaws _and_ the Last Bridge, way back during the time of Arassuil(2) and his war against the Orcs of the Hithaeglir. This was the only way to exercise at least _some_ control over the East Road. It also protected the homesteads and the fields that stretched southward from the Road.

For the same reason, it has always been a dangerous place to dwell in. Which is why it mostly served as a garrison, inhabited by Rangers and a handful of healers. Families were usually not allowed to live here.

Of course there was no old custom that could have kept Saelind the Wise-hearted from following her husband where ever he went. But then again, Saelind was not a woman anyone could order to stay at home. Even as the women of the Dúnedain go, she was an exceptionally strong one.

I can still remember how upset the noble families of the Dúnedain were when Halbarad announced his wish to wed her. After all, Halbarad was Estel's kinsman, while Saelind was not even pure-blooded Dúnadan. Her grandmother came from Bree and was related to the Butterbur family, or so they said. Which had been another scandalous event at its own time, of course, but at least the Lady Adanel had been a stunning beauty, so people tended to be more… understanding.

Saelind, on the other hand, was anything but beautiful. She took after the short, plump, russet-haired Bree-folk in everything but her noble features, and in her youth she was mostly shunned. Sometimes I almost believe that I was the only one who ever understood why Halbarad fell in love with her instead of her much prettier younger sister, Beldis. As a young girl she was moody and withdrawn and easily hurt – learning her true nature was a long process. And Men, particularly Rangers, rarely have the time for such things. They lived in constant peril, so they had to live fast.

Still, Halbarad proved to be a Man with true insight and an open heart – and he had the patience to win her trust. And so they married, despite the misgivings of the Lord Halabor, Halbarad's father, and as far as anyone could see, they had been very happy together.

Therefore I had no doubt that I would find my good friend Saelind in the fortress with her husband and was delighted to see her rush towards us across the courtyard. Short and plump she might be, yet she was surprisingly light on her feet and as quick as lightning. Barely had I got down from Nimfaun's(3) back when I found myself holding an armful of warmth and strength, wrapped in a shadowy grey gown.

She gave each of us a firm hug, ignoring Elrohir's good-natured complaints about his ribs. Then she turned back to me, took my face in her strong, warm hands, and those gold-flecked, greyish-blue eyes seemed to pierce my very soul.

"You have changed," she stated calmly. I had known I would never fool her for a moment. She might not be pure-blooded Dúnadan, but she was more foresighted than any one of her generation. She could read Men's hearts like an open book.

"I have made my Choice," I replied simply, and her eyes widened in sudden understanding, for we had spoken of this many times in the recent years, whenever we had the chance to do so. I always found her a soothing presence.

"I see," she said after some thought. "I ask you not to speak of it to Beldis, though. 'Twould be unwise to awaken false hopes in her."

"I thought she would have grown out of her infatuation," I answered in surprise. Her sister used to have… feelings for me. Feelings that I could not return. "Has she not married recently?"

"Recently, indeed! That was _eleven_ years ago!" Saelind gave a derisive snort. "Elves!" she added in a less than approving manner, exasperated at our inability to count time as Men do - as _I shall_ have to learn to do, eventually. Then she saddened all of a sudden and continued. "Aye, she _did_ marry... but her husband was slain at Sarn Ford when the Nazgul crossed the river."

"That is unfortunate," I said, saddened as well, for I had known Torbarth – he had been a good and decent Man."

Saelind made a wry face. "Aye, it is. So be gentle with her, will you?" She turned to Elrohir. "Now, come on in, the two of you. As usual, you managed to arrive right at supper time."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They were shepherded into the dining hall of the fortress – a place where they had been many times during the last three hundred years – and were greeted by Halbarad and his lieutenants, Borthard and Manthor, both rather young in Dúnadan terms. Yet they had to fill in for older, more experienced Rangers recently slain, the late husband of Beldis among them. There were also Halbarad's grown sons, though barely come of age, Belmir and Hathaldir, the latter named after Haldir of Lórien, with whom Halbarad had become friends during the Elf's visits in Imladris.

There was Beldis, of course, a small, blue-eyed, pleasantly rounded woman, still as pretty as Saelind was not, but with white threads in her long, russet hair already. With her were nine-year old, wide-eyed and very curious daughter, and the Lady Gildis, Saelind and Halbarad's eldest, tall and dark-haired as her father but quick-witted and headstrong as her mother. Several other Rangers whom Elladan knew by sight but to whom he had never spoken sat around the long table with the family.

When the guests finally entered, they all stood and turned to the West for a moment, as was their wont, looking towards Númenor that had been, and beyond to Elvenhome that was, and to that which was beyond Elvenhome and would ever be. Often had the sons of Elrond witnessed – and shared – this particular custom, yet never before had it hit them so hard.

For one day, in the not-so-far future, at least as Elves count time, Elrohir would set sail for the far West toward which they were now looking, yet Elladan would no longer have a place there. After three thousand years of exceptional closeness the twins would have to part 'til the end of Arda – mayhap even beyond it.

The thought filled their hearts with sorrow. Elladan was beginning to feel how the true ramifications of his Choice burdened them both, and they ate quietly while the members of Halbarad's family and the Rangers present talked in low voices about day-to-day business around them. Finally, the meal was over. The table guests rose and left, save Borthand and Manthor, for every time the young lords of Imladris visited the Angle, it meant some Orc-hunting, scouting or other business like that, and the lieutenants needed to be present while their Captain made his plans.

"How are things faring in Imladris?" Halbarad finally asked. "I hope the Valley will recover after the siege."(4)

"There is much damage," Elrohir answered sadly, "and some of the old trees will never recover. But Aiwendil was able to save the Great Oak on the Place of Festivals, and this gives us all some hope."

"I knew not that Radagast the Brown was on this side of the Mountains again," Halbarad said in surprise. "He usually keeps company with the Woodland Folk."

"He came to take his leave from Lindir," Elrohir said. "I assume you know that Erestor and Lindir have left for the Havens?" Halbarad nodded.

"They passed through with Gildor's Company. The young one seemed in a sorry shape." His concern was genuine, despite the ironic fact that Lindir was nearly three thousand years old. Yet Halbarad had lived through more hardships than most young Elves ever would in their long lives.

"Lindir was not born and raised to take a life," Elrohir shrugged, "not even that of an Orc. I hope the closeness of the Sea will heal his heart. Yet those of us who _have_ been brought up to wield weapons have to prepare for war again. A message has been sent to my father. Saruman has betrayed us and Rohan is on the verge of falling. Aragorn needs us there – all whom you can gather and send out on such short notice."

The fact that Elrohir called him Aragorn, the name by which the Dúnedain knew their Chieftain, rather than Estel, the name given to him by the Elves, showed how important the message was. Halbarad nodded again.

"Then I shall take everyone this fortress can offer and ride with you at great speed," he answered. "'Twill not be many, for our forces here are scattered since we lost the troops who guarded Sarn Ford and some of those who tried to break the siege of Imladris. Some need to remain here and protect our people. But I will take as many as I can."

"All of us must move together now," Elrohir agreed, "even though 'tis not in our hand to win the war by sheer force – we have not _that_ kind of strength. And yet it seems that there is hope still, for Gandalf, who was thought dead, has returned, and mayhap his return is the sign we all have been looking for."

"That," commented Halbarad thoughtfully, "is a tale I would _love_ to hear."

"We know no more than the mere fact," explained Elrohir with a shrug. "Messages from Lothlórien are usually short – the Lady likes not to reveal more than she must. All we have been told is that Aragorn has need of your – of _our_ – help, and that we can find him in Rohan."

"That is a big country to find a single Man in," Borthard said, "even if he is the Chieftain. Where are we supposed to find him?"

"Edoras would be a good place to start looking," Saelind murmured, seemingly to herself, yet still loud enough for everyone to hear. Beldis gave her a disapproving glance –she was afraid of insulting the men in charge – but Saelind paid her no attention. As the wife of Halbarad and a respected healer in her own right, she was used to speaking her mind, regardless of whether the other Rangers liked it or not.

"That would be the obvious thing to do," Halbarad nodded in agreement. "And since I have to take the most experienced Rangers with me, I intend to leave you, my Lady, in charge of Bar Haleth. 'Tis a heavy burden in these times, yet I am certain that you can shoulder it."

"That and more," Saelind replied indignantly. Halbarad gave her one of his rare smiles.

"I know. And it comforts my heart that our people shall be in good hands."

"But Captain," young Manthor protested, "would it not be better to leave a Ranger in charge? Our homes could be attacked by the enemy, and the Lady Saelind does not wield any weapons. How is she supposed to defend the Angle?"

"To defend our homes, one needs more than just knowing how to kill, Manthor," Halbarad replied slowly. "The Lady Saelind was following me to battle and tending our wounded before you were even born. Be assured that she knows what she has to do, should the need arise."

"The Lady Saelind," she said, her gold-freckled eyes flaring, "would appreciate it greatly if the two of you would cease speaking of her as if she were not present. When will youthful brats like you, Manthor, finally learn that survival means a lot more than sharp swords and strong bows?"

"They are young," Elladan intervened quietly. "They will learn. They have to, if they wish to survive."

Saelind's eyes became softer looking at him. "Just as you have to," she answered gently.

Elladan nodded. "Aye, just as I have to."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

From that point on, the discussion turned to strategic topics again, and I found that I could not focus on it. Usually both Elrohir and I took great delight in discussing plots and plans and strategies, mapping out our moves carefully, but on this evening, my mind was elsewhere.

Rohan. We were going to Rohan, the land of the horse-lords – mayhap I even was to meet the Lady Éowyn. Should I speak to her, talk with her about the Man who was, to a certain extent, bound to both of us? Or should I keep hidden from her that I was grieving for Boromir more than she ever would?

They did not know each other well – Boromir told me that much – and yet they found out quickly that they were, indeed, very much alike. Duty and honour came above all else for them both. Had Boromir survived, they could have become a well-matched and content couple – if not for me.

Was it selfish of me to take Boromir to my bed, just because I fell for him almost at first sight? To bind myself to him with a bond that will last 'til the end of Arda and even beyond? True, his heart had already been taken, but might he have grown to love the Lady Éowyn, given enough time? Father says that Men's hearts can change easily. And she at least could have given him what I never could: a consort that his own people would accept and respect, and the heirs his family needed.

In a way, I would only have been a burden for him, had he not fallen. And yet, I cannot regret what I have done. Even though the rest of my life will be lonely and barren, and my flesh will yearn for his touch and never be fulfilled, I would do it again and again, in a thousand other lifetimes. Our time together might have been short, yet it meant more for me than the nearly three thousand years I had lived before.

Before I met him, I had little understanding for people who, driven by their passions, gave up everything – I thought it to be a mortal thing, born of the lack of wisdom. How little had I known about the wisdom of the heart back then. For I have done the same thing – not only have I become mortal, but I also gave up everything and gained naught in exchange – or so I would have thought ere I met Boromir.

Now I know that I have gained the greatest gift a person – Elf or Man – could receive: a love that remains beyond Death, beyond the boundaries of Arda itself. My _hröa_ will fall to the Earth and perish, yet my _fëa_ shall be set free to leave this world and be reunited with the other soul to which it is bound for eternity.

Who could say that I am not fortunate?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Finally, all the plans were made, and Halbarad sent his lieutenants away to call the chosen Rangers and make the other preparations needed. His younger son, Hathaldir, was among those chosen. Belmir had been ordered to remain in Bar Haleth as the leader of the armed troops, while his mother looked to the other matters of defence. The young man was dismayed, of course – he wished to ride to battle with his father something he had had very little chance to do before. But Halbarad would hear none of it.

"I need you here," he said, "for you are my heir, and though Gildis and your mother need little protection, as they know very well how to defend themselves, there are others who _have_ to be protected. Whom should I entrust with this task if not my eldest son?"

Belmir accepted his father's decision with obvious displeasure, yet he had no choice in this matter and he knew it. Soon, the family retreated to make their own preparations, and Elrohir, too, retreated to the guest chambers he and his brother were always given when visiting the Angle, for they were about to make a long, hard ride, and he wanted to rest.

Elladan, however, felt not like retiring just yet, so he walked out to the breastwork of the small fortress and looked eastward, to the Road, contemplating the paths before them in the darkness.

He had not been there long yet when he heard the soft footfall of a woman approaching, and turning, he saw Beldis descending the narrow catwalk that led to one of the watchtowers, having brought food to the night watch.

"You should rest, my Lord," she said quietly. "A long and tiring way is before you – 'twill do you no good to begin it wearily."

"I shall do so, soon," Elladan replied in surprise. This was the first time ever that she dared to speak to him directly and in private. Unlike her sister, she was a rather shy person. "But my mind is not at ease, and I cannot sleep at the moment."

""Are you… frightened?" she asked hesitatingly. "Do Elves fear Death as well?"

"For Elves, death is different," Elladan answered, not mentioning the fact that he had already chosen the path of Men. "When they are killed, they can be reborn if they wish to, after having spent a certain amount of time in the Halls of Mandos. In one form or another, they last as long as Arda lasts."

"And what happens afterwards?" she asked. Elladan shrugged.

"That is a question no-one has been able to answer yet."

"Still, it means that you can live 'til the end of the world," Beldis said in an almost accusing tone. "Why is then Death called the Gift of Men?"

"For they are not bound to the circles of this world," Elladan replied. "I know not where the spirits of Men go after they die, yet 'tis said among our lore-masters that Men shall last beyond this world – where and how, I cannot tell."

"'Tis little comfort," Beldis said bitterly. "I would rather we had longer lives in _this_ world – and safe ones, at that. I care not what comes afterwards."

"Yet you should," said Elladan, "for little comfort it might be, 'tis the only one we have. Yea," he added softly, "I understand your sorrow and your loss. For I, too, have lost someone to the Enemy recently. Someone who was dear to my heart. Someone who shall _not_ be reborn."

Even in the darkness, he could see the eyes of Beldis widening in comprehension.

"You loved a mortal… and she died?" she whispered. Elladan shook his head.

"Nay, Lady. He might have died, true, yet I still love him – and shall do so as long as I live."

Beldis' face took on that strange, hurt expression the women of the Dúnedain usually wore when men who shared their bed with other men were mentioned. While the Rangers had an understanding – not to mention full appreciation – for this Elven custom, particularly in wartime, their women mostly reacted the same way Beldis did.

"Most of us feel cheated," Saelind had explained to him once when he asked her for the reason. "There are not so many who could marry a young maiden, giving her a home and a family, for our men often fall young in battle. And even those who do not are rarely at home. The women have to keep the house running and tend the fields, bring up the children – alone, with little or no help from their husbands. Small wonder it makes them bitter, knowing that the men take comfort with each other while they are waiting alone in their cold and empty beds. We are no Elves – we have no centuries to live. Only what is here and now can we call our own. And sometimes that is not much."

"Is that the reason why you follow Halbarad everywhere?" Elladan had asked back then. Saelind shrugged.

"That is part of it is. After all, I am not a pure-blooded Dúnadan – I have even shorter a time than most. But I am needed, too… being a healer gives a woman more freedom. All in all, I am fortunate, I think."

_I wonder if she still considers herself fortunate_, Elladan thought absently. _After all, she cannot come with us this time – and there is a strong chance that we shall not return from this battle._

With a sudden jerk he realized that Beldis was speaking to him still.

"Forgive me, my Lady," he said. "Can you repeat your last words? My mind was elsewhere."

"Oh, 'twas not important," Beldis avoided his gaze. "I was just wondering who he might be… the one who was able to capture your heart. I never saw you being close to any of our people."

"He was not from here," Elladan sighed, "and you did not know him – though your sister did. She healed him from his injury in Tharbad."

"The Heir of Gondor?" Beldis' eyes widened again – like everyone else in Bar Haleth, she knew well who the mysterious wounded Southerner, healed and cared for by her sister, turned out to be at he end. "Has he not left in the company of our Lord?"

Elladan nodded, a dull ache in his chest. "He has."

"But… but if you know that he is dead… what about the Lord Aragorn?" she asked. "What other tidings have come?"

"None," answered Elladan with a sigh, "none at all, beyond the sad truth that Boromir of Gondor has fallen." He revealed not to her that even _this_ he only knew because of their bond.

"Thus you are widowed, too… in a sense," Beldis murmured. "What will you do now that you have been left behind, alone?"

"Take over his place at Aragorn's side," Elladan said simply. "Even if the war should have a good end, I will be needed there."

"You are needed _here_, my Lord!" she replied promptly, mayhap even a little hotly. "What shall become of us when all who are left will go south?"

"Here I cannot be of any help," said Elladan quietly. Bringing up the usual argument that he did not belong to the Dúnedain would have been something of a lie now, if not in its entirety. "But going south, I can bring with me to Gondor the memories of Boromir and thus bring the folk of the south hope."

"Are _we_ to be left behind without any hope then?" Beldis asked bitterly. "Are we that much less important than our southern Kindred, just because our realm has been shattered?"

"I cannot give you hope, Lady Beldis," Elladan replied slowly, "and I cannot answer your questions, even though I very much doubt that Aragorn would forget the lands of his forefathers. And I cannot give you true comfort, either. All I still have to give is a memory – if you accept such small gift from me."

She looked up into his face questioningly, then gave a small nod. Elladan leant forward and touched her lips with his gently – 'twas more the infusing of his breath than a kiss, truly.

For a moment she stood petrified, caught between fear and disbelief. Then she seemed to understand the meaning of his gift, for she bowed her head in great dignity and retreated without a further word, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

TBC – eventually

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

**End notes:**

(1) Earlier name for Ephel Brandir. The Dúnadan fortress in the Angle is a hypothetical settling, borrowed from Michael Martinez' article: "Ranger for hire – have horse, will travel".

(2) Which lasted from 2719-84, Third Age.

(3) White Cloud (Sindarin) – Elladan's horse was christened thus by Isabeau of Greenlea.

(4) I postulated in my other tales that Imladris had been attacked by Saruman's forces, shortly after the Fellowship left.


End file.
